


phone for the fish knives, norman! (oneshot)

by Juliet_Lemming98



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Bullying, Cliche, Hospitals, M/M, Self Harm, Soulmates, Tattoo, Triggers, accidental attempted suicide, attempted suicide, do not read if triggered, soulmate tattoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-15 00:08:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5764249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juliet_Lemming98/pseuds/Juliet_Lemming98
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'My tattoo appeared four years ago, at fifteen like everyone else's. What was different about mine was what it revealed to everyone observant enough to read it; that i was going to screw up my life, and my soulmate too.'</p><p>Harry's always feared meeting his soulmate because it will cement the fact that he's a screw-up. So one day, he takes measures to make sure that his soulmate tattoo will never interfere in his life again...</p><p>TRIGGERS, do not read if you are triggered<br/>Title from 'How To Get On In Society' by John Betjeman</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. before

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually part of my English coursework (bc I'm so awesome I write Lirry fanfictions to get my grades whoop)  
> Please read with caution if you are triggered easily!  
> Here's a link to another 1D fan fiction I'm writing  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/6069502  
> Happy reading :)

My name is Harry Styles, and I am prepared.

 

In theory, I am prepared, laying out towels and a bottle of vodka. Even though I need to be as steady as I can be today, I’m tempted to take a shot before I start. I fill a bowl with boiling water and drop my brother’s fish knife in, watching it sink to the bottom. My mother’s best sugar tongs are next to the bowl, ready to tease out the knife when I need it. 

Opening the spirit bottle, I wash it over the tattoo on my wrist. This is what I need to remove. Four words, short ones. 

They are the first words my soulmate will say to me. My tattoo appeared at ten, much like everyone else’s. What was different about mine was what it revealed to everyone observant enough to read it; that I was going to screw up my life and my soulmate too. What good can come from a relationship that starts with ‘I’m so sorry’? I was tired of feeling looks of pity prickling the back of my neck when people realised what was written on my wrist.

I take a whiff of the vodka, the label's red hue as startling as the scent of the spirit, reminding me of the true purpose of this. Teasing the knife from the bowl, I let the blade kiss my pale skin. 

I can’t help but involuntarily gasp at the way the fish knife glides in between the fibres of my flesh, effortlessly parting the black ink from my body.

The blade is sharp like a truth that has been shouted in cursive, and suddenly I can’t think in anything other that colours: the red of the bottle and my blood, the silver laughing off of the blade and the water. Blackness creeps in at the edge of my vision, sapping my strength and then I can’t even see the colours. 

I thought I knew what I was doing, but my forethoughts were flawed, everything’s on the floor now anyway…

 

*****

 

I feel kind of dead, is my first thought.

I don't want to be dead.

I did not plan to die. I should've got someone to help. My fault.

I am simultaneously warm and cold, somehow seeing both blinding light and cloying darkness at the same time. 

But then I think, I can't be dead, because there isn't anything here. There has to be something more than this oddly oxymoronic place of both light and dark, warmth and cold. 

But then I can't think at all because the light is harsh and bright until it cuts out with a loud scream of 'fuck' and then I'm back.

Only back to here, mind. I'm only back to this weird place. I'm not quite in my bathroom with a fish knife and a bottle of vodka, not quite dead, not quite anywhere.

Then the light and dark is gone, replaced by a dark red I can only assume is sunlight filtering through my closed eyes.

I'm kind of waiting for a person with wings to appear and tell me I am, in fact, dead when I hear a tell-tale beeping that makes me want to cry, shout and lash out at someone. Because that beeping noise can only be from some kind of machine I'm hooked up to, and that means I'm in a hospital.

The light feeling harsh on my eyes, I blink and squint at my surroundings. It's a pretty basic hospital room and this whole thing feels quite clichéd, waking up to heart monitors piercing an otherwise silent vacuum. Suddenly, I realise that it is the only thing I can hear, and I panic a little bit. Everything is silent except for the beep of the heart monitor. I lift my arm to look at my tattoo, only to find it bandaged up. Unsure of what I want to find under the fabric, I begin to claw at the bandages. Did I succeed? Or is that cursed script still on my skin? 

The heart monitor picks up speed, the beeps getting faster in accordance with my pulse. What seems to be a horde of doctors and nurses pile into my room silently; the beeping the only thing I can hear. A pretty blonde nurse with purple streaks in her hair tries to hold my arms flat against the bed, her mouth moving but nothing coming out. She turns her head round and shouts something; I can't hear what. Another nurse fills up a syringe with a clear solution and I struggle, unable to even hear the noises I'm making. A doctor makes eye contact with me before piercing my throat with a needle. I want to tell him that I need to know what lies under the bandage, what lies on the skin I tried to remove. I don't even know if there's anything holding my body together there, on my vulnerable forearm, apart from sterile bandages.

The drug only takes about a few minutes to take effect, but it feels like longer with the sea of faces looking at me. Somehow sensing my discomfort, the doctor pushes people out of the room until we are the only people there. He watches me sadly.

Then I realise that sound is leeching back into my brain. I try and tell him, but he makes hushing noises at me. It seems loud after my temporary deafness.

He goes as if to say something, but closes his mouth and begins to walk away. Watching the man leave, I feel so alone as blackness washes over my vision just like before. Just as I drift off again, the doctor pauses on the doorjamb;

'I'm so sorry, Harry.'

 

*****

 

 

 

 


	2. after

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'I could only stare at the man whose words had been echoed on my skin before. His hair was messy and his eyes were tired.
> 
> And he was beautiful.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, turned out I only wrote the first half of this fic for my English class- I got 19/20!! A* in English language here I come! It's crazy, creative writing is the only thing I can do in English class, everything else is terrible!  
> I quite like this storyline, so I may continue it, but unsure as of yet.

I tried to claw my way back to consciousness, but I fell into the same limbo I had been waiting in before.

 

I thought back to the hospital room. I had never actually spoken to the doctor, therefore he wouldn't know if I was his soulmate. 

He hadn't said 'I'm so sorry', he'd said 'I'm so sorry, Harry'. Did my name tagged on the end make a difference?

Had he said anything whilst I couldn't hear? Did that count?

I wouldn't know until I spoke to him. 

I tried to remember him. He was tall, with short brown hair in a quiff and dark eyes. He made eye contact with me while sedating me. The way he had paused on the doorjamb hesitantly was kind of cute. The man was uncertain, but something had prompted him to talk to me, even though I was almost asleep.

Fate?

 

I quieted my mind, hoping to get some rest.

 

*****

 

I woke to no heart monitors beeping. I was alone in the room. There was an indistinct sound of talking from outside. Sitting up, I tried to peek under the bandages, but they were too tightly wrapped. I pulled harder the bandages before hearing someone run into the room. Someone placed their big hands over my arms, stopping my urgent movements. I looked up to see **the** doctor's brown eyes piercing my green ones. He rubbed circles on my wrist with his thumb.

'Please don't do that, love.'

I pulled my hands out of his and went to speak.

But then I froze.

All my life I had dreaded this moment, and that came crashing down on me. This doctor knew everything about me and my problems. I was probably going to be diagnosed with depression or something, and this man who was possibly my soulmate knew.

I tried to phrase something before I realised that whatever I said, it would reveal my status as the doctor's soulmate. 

The man was still looking at me.

'Can you say something? Tell me your name?'

I shook my head wordlessly, my head still spinning with all my preconceptions of my soulmate.

The doctor looked down at the floor, then brought his eyes up to meet mine slowly.

'Please, love? Can you talk to me?'

I blinked. 

'I... I'm afraid,' I began 'but you feel safe.' I looked up at him. His face was pale and his eyes were huge.

'You?' he asked.

'Maybe?' I answered shyly.

'Baby... This is... Oh my god... It's you...'

He smiled widely and hugged me.

_'I can't believe it's you, my love.'_


	3. i believe in you and me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation, Harry and Liam fluff/angst. Picks up straight from the last chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit man! This started as a piece of English GCSE coursework (I got an A in my GCSE, guys, obviously it was this that cinched it!), and now I kind of fancy carrying on... a little?  
> Idk, this can be procrastination from A Level English Lit :)

My words were entirely accurate- his arms felt safe, and warm, and gave me an overwhelming feeling of home. 

He drew back a little, though keeping his hands on the side of my face. 

'So, Harry Styles, huh? That's a pretty cool name for a soulmate.'

I smiled through my slightly damp eyes. 

'And who would you be?' I ask shyly. 

The doctor stroked my cheek. 

'Liam. Liam Payne. I've worked here as a doctor for the last year and a half. There's a bit of an age gap between us.' 

My eyebrow raised slightly. Liam looked sheepish. 

'Six years.'

I coughed, unsubtly. 'Oh, ok. That's fine.'

We made eye contact and laughed. 

'Sorry to be a disappointment, babe.' He quipped.

I grabbed his hand; 'Never.'

He seemed to be a master of giving me puppy eyes, deep brown pools of sweetness. 

'So, tell me a little about yourself, Harry Styles.'

'Um,' I scrabbled for information about myself. 'I work in a bakery.' I offered hesitantly.

His smile grew wider, which I had thought impossible. 

'A baker, hmm? Well, I love a man that can cook.' He paused. 'What's your favourite thing to make? At the bakery?'

'It would have to be petite fours. They're so cute, and tiny. Although they take too long!'

A pause.

'Also, I like to draw, and I do some small commissioned work. Posters for groups, album art, logos for companies, stuff like that.'

Liam ran a finger over my bandaged hand; 'An artist. I bet your art is beautiful. Have to get all fixed up then, yeah? I want you to be healthy again as soon as you can, sweetheart. Then you can get back to baking cakes and making art.'

'I'm sorry.' I whispered, then laughed hollowly. Those words were what had got me into this mess.

Liam looked concerned, and he leant forwards to sit on the edge of the bed. 

'Don't ever be sorry, my love. Just please don't scare me like that again. I've known you for all of four minutes and already I want you safe.'

I wanted to pull away, this was an overload of things. Everything was happening at once, and Liam noticed. 

'Calm down, Harry. You're safe here. I'm going to move away and give you some space, you just calm down now.'

'...ok.' I whispered out.

'There we go, so good.' He soothed.

It was easier to think without Liam right next to me. I felt an immediate bond to him, and while on one level, it made me feel safe, the other side of my brain was panicking. 

'Li?' My voice was calmer now, and I felt my mind clearing. Liam smiled at the nickname.

'Yes?' 

I hesitated, unsure how to phrase what I wanted to say, but Liam knew exactly what I was getting at.

'You can't look yet, it's all bandaged up, sweetheart.'

'What does it look like?' I whispered.

Liam winced. 

'Soulmarks can regenerate, as I'm sure you know, however you did manage... to remove the entire mark. I would imagine it will return, though it probably will not be as vivid as it was. My guess would be scar tissue with the mark on top.'

I was so fucking done with whispering, but it was all my mind was capable of at the moment.

'So this was all for nothing,' I started; 'I'll still be marked forever.'

Liam bit his lip, and spoke as a soulmate, not as a doctor.

'Do you want that, Harry? To have no record of me on your skin? Because I'll tell you, I've loved my soulmark for the past thirteen years.' His voice was full of hurt that he made no effort to disguise.

'It's not that, Li... God, no, don't think that!' My whispering was over, as I spoke in a rush.

'I know you have some isssues, Harry, but, please-'

My pent-up anger reared its ugly head, and I spat out words faster that I knew what I was saying.

'Let me tell you, Li, what this tattoo has meant for the last seven years. It's meant that I get pitying stares from people, it's meant that I never dreamt about meeting my soulmate, and it's meant that every day I fall deeper and deeper into a hole that says 'I'm so sorry, Harry' on repeat. This mark is a reminder that I fuck everything up. I even fucked up trying not to fuck up. So maybe now you'll get where I'm coming from- that being marked as flawed for the last seven years hasn't been a fucking dream, Liam.'

My voice cracked a little.

'So you should probably just go. Find someone who won't fuck up your life.'

Liam looked like a kicked puppy.

'Harry please-'

'No!'

'No, sweetheart, listen-'

'Get out!' I couldn't believe I had been whispering only a few minutes ago.

'Please, Li. Just go.'

Liam took in my trembling body and wild eyes. He took my hand and kissed it, before backing away.

'I'll be back, Harry. Don't give up on yourself.'

 

 

 

 


End file.
